


Playthings

by Synodic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Genital Mutilation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synodic/pseuds/Synodic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fort Max treats himself to something familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playthings

**Author's Note:**

> This is an entirely self indulgent fic because there needs to be more Fort Max fic and more Fort Max having fun times in general.
> 
> Not feelin at the top of my game this week, so please pardon any grammatical errors that I didn't manage to catch. :D

Fort Max stared down at the large package on his berth; he’d been eagerly awaiting this delivery for three weeks, but now that it was here he was nothing but nervous, his gut fluttering in little twists. He’d decided to treat himself and his slowly returning libido by purchasing a few toys, prompted by some overheard discussions at Swerve’s. After searching around a little, he’d decided to forgo a small but varied collection, and settled instead on just one large purchase. He’d had one just like it, what seemed like an age ago, and it’d been one of his favorite belongings. 

With a sigh he dropped his arms from where he’d crossed them and stepped forward, tearing the top of the shipping box open. Inside was a smaller box, and after a small struggle where he just ended up just tearing the outer box, it was free. He grunted and struggled to open the second one, fingers slipping on the tabs, and resorted to tearing that one as well. He was careful with the contents- a large fabric covered box with a lid that he set on top his berth, then kicked the remains of the slain boxes to the corner of his hab-suite to be picked up later. He sucked in a breath and held it, letting it out as the lid of the box slid off without a fuss. 

Inside was a black sybian appropriate for a frame of his caliber, with several bright blue attachments and a packet of instructions. Max chewed on his bottom lip as he removed the contents from the box and spread them out. The nervous tickle in his gut turned hot, a needy burn that made his valve clench as he eyed the various attachments. With gentle hands he grabbed the instructions, flicking through them just to be sure he remembered everything right.

Setting that aside, he moved the sybian to the floor between his berth and his desk; he didn’t trust balancing it on his berth, and it was the only spot on the floor with enough room, so it would have to do. His valve gave another hot clench as he looked down at it, hazy memories of pleasure surfacing, long nights spent rocking himself to completion until he couldn’t move anymore. His fans clicked on hard enough that he jumped, startling from his reverie. 

Max slowly trailed a hand down his body, over his panels that were just starting to prickle with heat and between his legs, fingers pushing over the transformation seam down the center. He nibbled at his lip again, the touches lighting up an eagerness in him that he hadn’t felt in ages. 

He gazed longingly at the attachment with the larger false spike, and felt his mouth go dry. Oh, he wanted _ so badly _ , the memory of how much he enjoyed being stretched and filled leaving his knees weak…but he knew he had to start slow. With a regretful whine he picked up the piece with a smaller spike and a textured ridge for his nub, fumbling a little in his haste to get it on the back of the sybian. His vents were pouring out heat into his small room, the temperature gauge slowly clicking up until climate controls clicked on to vent cold air in.

Taking a deep inhale, Max let his panels click open. He’d gotten better about it, over the last few months. For a while he could barely stand the idea of having an interface array at all, and it had taken some extensive therapy with Rung, and some fairly invasive surgery, before he could even think about it. Now his large, worn fingers trailed over the plump lips of his valve, brushing over the soft, brand new equipment. The whole array had needed to be replaced in the end, and he regretted the loss of a few really fun mods that would be difficult to replace, if he decided to replace them at all. Max spread his legs a little wider, cupping his valve and stroking softly. His eyes fluttered closed as he just took a moment to feel his array priming itself; the lips of his valve were already so swollen with arousal that it ached, and his nub was flushed and peeking out between his folds, and each press of his palm over it had his valve clenching. His new components were all too easy to rile up, still overly sensitive as he acclimated to the new connections.

Max leaned forward and supported himself on the edge of the berth, spreading his legs wider and stroking harder, spreading the slick lubricant he was leaking around his valve and up over his node. He slid two fingers over the swollen nub and gasped, his upper half collapsing forward against the berth. Hot pangs of pleasure echoed up his frame and his valve gave another clench, fluid gushing down his thighs in small rivulets, a few drops falling onto his toy with a soft patter. Eagerness swelled up in him, and with a shudder and a smaller gasp Max drew his hand away, dropping in a rush to his knees above the false spike. Using two fingers to spread the lips of his valve apart, he hovered there for a moment. Apprehension niggled at the back of his throat; he hadn’t had anything in him since... _ him _ and being suddenly faced with the imminent prospect of it had him biting his lip again. Did he really want to do this? 

Yes. Yes he really, really did. 

Mind made up, Max dropped himself down, taking half of it before he had to pause. It burned a little despite his arousal and wetness, but it didn’t hurt per se, and he found that he liked it. Max took slowly drew himself up until the tip of the spike was in his valve, before dropping back down. His valve welcomed all of it the second time around, and with a gasp he seated himself completely, his plump nub resting on the raised ridge of the attachment. Panting wetly, Max fumbled for the corded control, burning with need. It was so good already, but not enough and he needed more  _ now _ . Max spun the dial until it clicked on, and nearly dropped the remote with a cry. 

Oh.

_ OH.  _

It was wonderful; even the small amount of stimulation he was getting was lighting up his internal nodes like fireworks, hot enough that he wobbled forward and only just managed to catch himself. His hips were rocking, grinding down, desperately seeking more stimulation. His thumb flicked the dial further, and he did drop the remote this time. Max’s eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open, silent but for gasps and small whimpers. He clutched the edge of his berth with both hands to keep himself upright as he rocked and bounced, the lewd, wet noises of his valve only making him hotter. Hot fluid gushed from his valve, sliding down the saddle and pooling on the floor- his knees slipped in it and he dropped his clit onto the textured ridge with a howl. He could do nothing but cling to his berth and sob out breathy moans, his array shooting sparks of molten heat through his frame. It was too much, it was so good and not enough but too much; before he knew it he was tripping into an overload with a garbled yell. 

He could’ve stopped then, perhaps should have, but he didn’t. His array was still hot, charge burning in his lines and spark, and Max’s valve clenched with need, unsatisfied. Sitting back he licked his lips, grabbing the remote and turning it up until it was at half power. There was barely a moment to imagine what heaven the higher settings would be like with his new and sensitive valve, before all trains of thought were disconnected and replaced with the influx of pleasure from his valve. Without having commanded it, Max’s spike sprang free from its housing; throbbing and drooling transfluid in pulses that matched the beat of his spark, the heavy vibration traveling up through his valve to the tip of his spike. He took his thick cord in one hand, fucking up into the tight circle of his fingers with each bounce, then dropping down and grinding his nub against the ridge with each downward pass. Max almost didn’t recognize the noises that were coming out of his own mouth; wanton, loud, and hoarse with static. He sounded...he didn’t know what he sounded like, only that it was good and he was too absorbed in the burning ache in his array to be self-conscious. 

A particularly hard drop had the false spike striking his ceiling node, and that was enough to tip him over into another overload. He squeezed his spike tight enough to almost hurt as it gushed hot transfluid over his hand and onto the vibrating seat beneath him, followed closely by a surge of lubricant from his valve. Max sobbed, collapsing forward and only just catching himself with a hand on the floor. His hips rocked, grinding down, chasing after the echos of pleasure but too weak to properly ride the spike still shifting inside of him. All higher functions seemed to wink out; there was just Max, barely tethered to his frame as his body moved on its own, rocking and writhing desperately. Overload after overload crashed through his frame, and he was barely aware of the time between them; it felt like one long, drawn out wave burning through him, and he never wanted it to stop. 

He didn’t know how much later it was, when his hand finally came in contact with the remote again and he managed to switch it off. The sudden drop in noise left him able to hear the roar of his fans, and the soft hiccups and sniffles from his own mouth. Max eased off as carefully as possible, before just sagging to the side in a graceless sprawl. He reached up with one trembling hand, wiping at the optical fluid and drool that had tracked down his face. Realizing that he was getting nowhere, he turned his face and buried it in the crook of an elbow, letting himself shake and cry as he slowly came back to himself. His thoughts were muggy and slow, exhaustion creeping in the more aware of himself he became. Max carefully cupped his valve with his other hand, rubbing at the tender and fluid-soaked lips of his valve. He wasn’t looking to continue anything, but only that he wasn’t ready to stop touching himself quite yet. 

After the last bit of crying was over with, Max slowly rolled onto his back, still panting as his frame pinged and popped. He was sore, and stiff- would be even more so in the morning- but he couldn’t complain. It was the most unburdened he’d felt in..well, months. He smiled up at the ceiling, feeling himself slowly sink into recharge. 

No, he couldn’t complain at all.

 


End file.
